Chack is the Best Medicine
by CrystallicSky
Summary: Another prompt series, this time with the theme of 'Medicine.' CHACK, ONESHOT


**Chack is the Best Medicine**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.**

**Warnings: Language, sexual implication/situations, slight gore, homosexuality, etc.**

--

_**Doctor-**_

"Ohhhh, _yesssss,_ Chase, right there…!"

"Of course, Spicer," a pleasured scream ripped through his words, "whatever you wish…"

"Uhnnn…y'know what I _really_ wish, Chase?"

"Unf, what…?"

"That you'd say it…"

"…no, Spicer."

A groan of ecstasy followed by an annoyed whine. "C'moooon, why not, baby?"

"It doesn't _matter_ what I call you," a sharp thrust, "it matters what I'm _doing_ to you….UNF, I don't see why I should have to call you something I've no want to call you..."

"Please…? I'll do that thing you like…" A roll of hips in demonstration.

A loud moan, obviously indicative of enjoyment. "Urgh, _damn_ you, Spicer, _fine!"_

_"Just_ Spicer?"

A rough sigh. _"Doctor_ Spicer…"

Jack cried out and came immediately, soon after followed by his lover. In the afterglow, Chase begrudgingly held the goth close, musing all the while how _annoyingly_ smug the boy had gotten now that he'd officially received a few doctorates for his genius.

_**Fever-**_

Jack gave a tired yawn as he sat upon the rumpled and messy bedspread, his overlord resting fitfully in his lap. His hand idly petted dark locks that'd been tied into a braid so as not to cause unnecessary warmth to the man's back and neck and the youth looked down with empathy upon his beloved.

Chase's handsome, flushed face was twisted by discomfort even in sleep; his eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched, and mouth drawn into a tight frown. He was completely nude for the heat of his body and _still_ he was drenched with a faint sheen of sweat.

The goth had been up all night taking care of the fever-stricken man: watching over him to make sure his condition didn't worsen, giving him the correct dosage of medication, and occasionally bathing him in tepid water.

It was finally paying off: Chase's fever was slowly beginning to drop.

Still, the 'round-the-clock supervision had taken its toll on the albino youth, and Jack was quite frankly _exhausted._

Seeing no harm in it with the man's temperature at last dropping down to a normal level, the goth bonelessly flopped backwards onto the bed, his head luckily making contact with a pillow.

Chase seemed to find no fault in the motion, either, and unconsciously moved up his lover's body, laying his head on the youth's soft, flat belly with an incomprehensible murmur of something.

Red eyes slipped closed and Jack allowed himself to fall asleep in the knowledge that he'd done everything he could to help his overlord get well again.

_**Fracture-**_

"Stop laughing at me," Jack growled.

"I'm not laughing at you, Spicer," Chase promised with a broad grin.

"Not with your mouth, maybe," the goth allowed, "but I can see it in your eyes: you are fucking _laughing_ at me, you bastard. I _order_ you to stop."

The everlord merely snorted. "You presume to order me?" he demanded with a chuckle. "What are you going to do to me, Spicer? There is only _one_ thing you could've done otherwise, and that fracture of yours makes even _that_ soundly impossible."

A bright red flush burned white cheeks. "Fuck you," Jack snarled. "I was pissed off, and they were already flying off on their fucking lizard! I had to do it as hard as I could so they'd see it."

"Only you, Spicer," Chase openly laughed, "could _possibly_ manage to break your finger in flipping the monks the bird!"

The albino huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest (careful, of course, of the split upon the middle finger of his left hand). "Yeah, well…just for that, you're not getting any until it heals."

And then the goth found out first-hand just how _quick_ an Evil everlord could bring himself to apologize when sex was on the line.

_**Healing-**_

Chase snarled to himself to hear a cry of pain from the bedroom quickly followed by agonized curses. Dropping what he was doing, he returned to the bed upon which his consort, who'd been sleeping when he'd last left, now sat up and hunched in on himself; tenderly cradling his arm.

In two long-legged strides, he was close enough to shove the youth onto his back and gently pull the arm away, straightening the broken bones despite Jack's whimpers of pain at the action.

"Your arm was essentially shattered, Spicer," he informed, magicking a spell of complete numbness and immovability over the limb. "You mustn't move until I can see it casted."

Jack made a low noise of pain and the desire to commit horrid acts of murder reared its ugly head at the helplessly confused expression upon his beloved's sweat-drenched face. "Whuh…what happened, Chase?" he wondered through grit teeth, the magic-induced numbness not working quickly enough to eradicate all traces of pain.

"What do you _think_ happened?" he caustically growled "Who _else_ sees you injured on a near-daily basis?!"

The albino meeped, startled by the vitriol in his lover's voice, and squeaked, "Th-the monks?"

Chase forced some semblance of calm over himself and simply nodded, knowing that to confirm it aloud would likely lead him into a furied, roaring rant about how the goth was _never_ allowed near the Xiaolin _again_ and that those snot-nosed little _brats_ would _pay_ for this newest transgression most dearly.

That held true, of course, even without the rant: he would be seeing to it personally that the monks would not go unpunished for the breaking of his lover's arm (in _three_ places!), and despite the fact that they would be in no condition to _ever_ harm him again, afterwards, he would be quite soundly banning Spicer from coming within miles of the nitwits; at least until a _new_ generation of Xiaolin replaced them, hopefully a group more in touch with the _good_ aspect of being Good.

For the moment, however, he remained silent and stroked Jack's hair until the boy once more fell asleep, thinking over the many _painful_ options he had in regards of how to deal with the monks…

_**Hygiene-**_

"Urk," the everlord gagged the moment his lover walked in the door, "you _reek,_ Spicer!"

Jack appeared puzzled. "What? But…I just showered, like, twenty minutes ago…"

Chase snorted. "Perhaps, but did you wash the pits of your arms?"

"Yeah," the albino confirmed, "I did it."

"Your feet?"

"Yeah, I washed my feet."

"The entire undercarriage?"

"Yes, yes, I did all that," Jack promised. "I did everything you told me to, Chase, I swear!"

"Behind your knees?" the elder man challenged.

There was silence for a moment. "Dammit," the goth cursed, "you've got too many rules on hygiene! You're, like, OCD or something!"

"My senses are _hyper_senses, Spicer," Chase reminded. "I have to take a potion to purposefully dim them before Showdowns and such to avoid sensory overload. To me, even a tiny bit of filth can be as rancid as a mountain of it, and I should not like to have to dim my senses while making love to you simply because you choose to half-ass it when cleaning yourself."

Jack scoffed as he turned to leave the room, quipping, "I think I just figured out why you didn't have a lover for _centuries_ before me: it's not that you're choosy, you're just too much of a pain in the ass to fuck!"

The everlord folded his arms over his chest, frowning. "I don't suppose I'm too much of a 'pain in the ass to fuck' for you, too, am I?"

The youth turned, a teasing smile on his face. "I'm going to shower again for you, aren't I?"

_**Illness-**_

"Chaaaaaaaaaase…"

The warlord in question sighed and sat down upon the mattress beside the moaning lump of blankets. "What is it, Jack?"

"I'm sick," the lump groaned piteously. "I need you to make it better…"

"Oh?" Chase wondered. "And just what is this mysterious illness you're suffering from?"

The blankets were thrown off and before the man was entirely aware of what happened, he had an albinistic goth still in his pajamas with sleep-tousled hair straddling his hips.

"Eet is ze sickness of _looooove,"_ Jack declared in a cheesy Pepé Le Pew accent. "Only joor kees can make me well, again!"

Before _Jack_ was entirely aware of what happened, he found himself dumped back onto the sheets, Chase already storming out of the room and muttering to himself, "Why can't it ever be my _cock_ that cures the love-sickness?"

_**Nausea-**_

"Urgh…I blame _you_ for this…"

"Me?" the everlord chuckled in amusement. "I simply took you out last night, _insisting_ you not drink too heavily."

"Yuh, well…" Jack dry-heaved, the sound very nearly turning Chase's own stomach. "You're an enabler…you're the one who took me out in the first place…"

Chase grinned at his lover, bent over the toilet for the nausea that yet lingered from the alcohol in his system. He'd already vomited twice and was currently moaning the discomfort of his belly into the porcelain bowl. "Perhaps this will teach you a lesson about getting so drunk _against_ my orders."

Jack made a noise that could generously be described as, 'MRRRRFFFGH.' "Ohhhh, you got that right," he practically whimpered. "Fuck _me,_ I am _never_ doing this again, and this time, I _mean_ it!"

The dragonlord watched as his consort emptied the contents of his stomach a final time and gave a hoarse noise of misery and regret before falling back against the cool, relieving tiles of the bathroom.

Chase simply snorted and moved forward, flushing the toilet and hefting his lover easily over his shoulder.

Jack whined and squirmed a little bit as the sudden change of perspective and whirl of gravity bothered his upset stomach.

"Come on, Spicer," he gently coaxed, "let's get you some aspirin and water and get you settled back in bed."

"Awesome…" the goth murmured quietly, allowing himself to be carried back to the bedroom.

Chase, of course, conveniently failed to mention that he had normally used his magic to negate his lover's hangovers before they happened for the past several years and that this (not doing so _one_ time) was his sneaky and admittedly Evil way of making the youth's excessive drinking stop.

For now, he simply carted the miserable albino back to bed, content in the knowledge that his plan had doubtless worked.

_**Nursing-**_

Chase was annoyed beyond all reason. "What happened to 'I am never doing this again,' Spicer?" he demanded, tapping his foot impatiently.

Red eyes looked up at him blearily. "'scuse - 'xcuse - 'xcuse me fer bein' _human!"_ the goth slurred drunkenly, a scowl on his face. One white finger poked the man in the chest as the youth demanded "Bet'chu don' remember what _that_ was like, _huh?!"_

The warlord felt his hackles rise even as the albino fell to the floor, unconscious, with a thud.

How _dare_ that impudent brat, even intoxicated, have the _gall_ to call his humanity into this?! Oh, Chase would _not_ be letting this go so easily; no, no, no…

Clearly, allowing Spicer to experience the hell of a hangover was not a sufficient method of getting his excessive drinking while out in public to stop. After all, one could not _remember_ the feeling of a hangover while getting drunk in the first place.

Chase decided then and there, being the Evil everlord he was, that he would not only _not_ be dissipating Jack's hangover in the morning, but that he would make it _linger_ for most of the day in _addition_ to not helping the goth in the least.

The man teleported the two of them to the bedroom and carelessly tossed the boy onto the bed; not covering him with the blanket or laying out water or aspirin for him.

Chase would see just how dear alcohol became to him when he didn't have the advantage of a loving dragonlord to nurse him through a twenty-four hour hangover…

_**Ointment-**_

"Oh, a little lower…lower…_yeah,_ right there…."

"You say this has to be done _daily,_ Spicer?" Chase inquired, nonetheless continuing to massage the ointment into his lover's skin.

"Yeah," Jack confirmed, "if I don't want to burst into flames the moment sun touches my skin, then yes, daily."

The warlord chuckled in amusement. "Your skin truly _is_ delicate, isn't it?"

"To a fault," the albino seemed to pout. "You wouldn't believe how awful this particular ritual was before today: I had to get a _bot_ to do it."

Chase could understand the shudder that followed the memory of cold, hard appendages forcefully kneading this special lotion into the skin of a fragile body. Jack bruised so easily, to boot…it was little question that even _before_ the daily-beatings he received from the monks, his body would've been covered in purple and black splotches.

"I suppose I am an infinitely better substitute, then?" he inquired, continuing to do as his consort had instructed and massaging the ointment into his back.

Jack moaned aloud at the firm, warm hands gently rubbing along his body, from his shoulders to his hips. "Helllll, yessssssss," he purred.

Chase offered an unseen quirk of his lips and moved onto the albino's arms, first applying a dollop more of the aloe-scented ointment to his hands.

Sure, the task was a bit tedious, but it kept Spicer's beautiful skin soft, white, and unburned by the sun, and if it was one thing the dragonlord simply adored about his lover, it was his positively _enchanting_ flesh.

And, on the bright side, it allowed him to put his hands _all over_ the youth's body, and when this turned the goth on to the point he could no longer stand it (as it inevitably would), there would be a suitable lubricant on hand.

Yes, Chase could get used to this whole 'generosity' thing…

_**Surgeon-**_

Jack sat up in bed, his left arm casted and in a sling from the bad break it'd recently suffered. In the hand of his perfectly functioning right arm, he held a piece of paper.

Upon being shaken awake by his lover mere moments ago and handed this as the everlord carefully watched his reaction with a grin; like a child who'd handmade a card for his mother on her birthday and simply couldn't _wait_ to be thanked for it, this list of various and severe medical expenses was…not what he'd been expecting.

Broken limbs, internal injuries, blood transfusions, necessary organ transplants…

And then just as Jack was about to ask what the hell all _this_ was, it hit him.

Red eyes brightened and Chase practically beamed as he saw the revelation dawn upon his beloved. "Well?" he proudly encouraged.

_"How_ many surgeons did they need to use to keep the monks alive?" the albino inquired, a grin on his face.

"Forty-three," the man cheerily declared.

"For me?" Jack cooed, leaning over to plant a sickeningly sweet kiss on his overlord. "You totally should have."

_**Syringe-**_

"Oh, my God, is he gonna be okay?!"

"He'll be fine when he comes to. He never stays unconscious long."

"…He's done this before…?"

"At least a hundred times. Something about the sight of the needle just…well."

"Should we help him? Fan him or get him some water or-"

"No, he'll be fine, just give me the shot already," Jack encouraged, holding out his arm for his current physician. "I wanna make fun of him for this, later."

The young, bespectacled woman eyed the stone-cold unconscious man on the floor, his black-green mane splayed quite prettily upon the linoleum as he lie in a dead faint. She then looked to the young redheaded man sitting in her office with a shit-eating grin, something telling her that his gorgeous (if unconscious) boyfriend would not be hearing the end of this for quite sometime.

Dismissing it, she approached her patient's outstretched arm with an, "Alright," and plunged the syringe into his skin.

_**Symptom-**_

"I feel awesome!" Jack brightly declared, setting foot outside the bedroom for the first time in days. "Nothing like getting struck down with the flu to make you appreciate being able to _breathe."_

"Good to know my efforts have not gone to waste, then," Chase spoke from behind him. The type of warlord that took a personal interest in his minions, the man took immediate notice when the most recent addition to his following, his newest consort, had taken ill with influenza. In a display of kindness no one would even believe him capable of, he had dutifully nursed his minion back to health for a little over a week.

It had been a long and tedious process, but…though he would never admit it to anyone alive or dead, he truly _did_ care for Spicer beyond the fact that he was alive, and to see him suffering from illness honestly bothered him when there was something he could do about it.

"Thanks for taking care of me," the albino offered in his gratitude. "I swear, I'll blow you eight ways to Sunday for all your trouble."

"Yes, you will," the dragonlord matter-of-factly stated. "I am not wont to waste my time with nothing to show for-" The man broke off, a short round of dry coughs cutting into his words.

Jack's eyes went wide and he was immediately at Chase's side, patting him on the back to help clear his throat. "Damn, Chase," he said, "are you okay?"

Quickly regaining control of himself, the overlord straightened, holding himself tall and proud so as to convey the image of everything being alright. "Yes, I'm fine," he immediately assured. "I must've had something caught in my throat."

"Maybe not," the albino carefully suggested. "You _did_ just spend, like, a week with me while I was sick… What if you caught what I had?"

"Ridiculous," Chase declared. "I am an immortal dragonlord: I do not _catch_ sicknesses."

Before the man could stop him, Jack pressed his palm flat against his lover's forehead and gave a worried frown. "I dunno," he said, "you feel like you're running a fever…"

Golden eyes blinked at him, more startled than anything else. "No…" Chase denied, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself. "I haven't been sick in _centuries…"_

"Maybe this is gonna break the dry-streak," the goth suggested. "You _do_ have some of the symptoms."

"Just because I'm running a slight fever and coughed a bit doesn't mean-" He cut off again, this time with a sneeze that had him wiping snot from beneath his nose in horror.

Jack snorted. "Sorry, Chase," he apologized. "Looks like I gave you the flu. My bad."

The dragonlord was too stunned by the fact that he'd _actually_ gotten sick to protest as his consort herded him back into the bedroom with the promise, "Don't worry, I'll return the favor: you took care of me, I'll take care of you."

_**Trauma-**_

Chase watched carefully as the waiter of the high-end club approached their table, going to place the drink menu upon the table.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah," Jack stopped the man, "we, uh...won't be having anything to drink tonight. My boyfriend doesn't really drink in public and I…" He broke off his sentence and the warlord could _see_ the minute, traumatized shiver of his body. "I had a…bad experience, recently."

The waiter went away and Chase smirked, curling an arm about the genius' shoulders. "I'm proud of you, Spicer," he said simply.

"Yeah, well," Jack leaned into the embrace, "after that _last_ skull-cracking brain-devourer masquerading as a hangover, I don't think I wanna be drinking for awhile. Besides," he grinned, "I bet it'll be nice to actually _remember_ sex after a night out, right?"

The elder man laughed and bent ever so slightly to kiss his lover, agreeing, "Indeed, it will be."

_**Treatment-**_

Jack was terrified.

That was a pretty safe thing to say considering his current location, in a secluded operating room strapped down to a table and being faced down with a gigantic laser beam.

His parents wanted him to take over the family business. Sure, the goth had thought at the time, why not? He could do that _and_ maintain his role on the Heylin side of things what with his intellect, and it'd make his mom and dad happy, so yes, he'd love to take over the family business.

He hadn't known good ol' mom and dad were gonna force him into some crazy experimental treatment like _this_ when he'd agreed.

Apparently, he _could not_ represent the Spicer family properly looking as _weird_ as he did; with his white skin and red eyes. Because he was still technically underage (by a few measly _months!_) they had legal right to make him undergo this…mad scientist experiment thing that would use this huge laser now before him to darken his skin to a normal color.

His eyes, the crazy doctor had told them, would require _eyeball transplants._

That was about when Jack had completely freaked out (as he should've, mind you) and went the route of running like hell in the hopes of escape.

Unfortunately, he hadn't made it: he had been caught by some of the shady personnel at this totally whacked-out 'clinic' and brought back to his parents and the crazy doctor, who had decided that since he'd seemed 'anxious' about it, the procedure should be done _right then._

And, back to the current moment where he was tied down to the operating table and facing down Mr. Big-Ass Laser, his heart hammering frantically in his chest from his sheer terror at having his very identity stolen from him. Of course, it didn't help that he kept thinking about the eye-transplant that would be coming after this; looking at the giant laser didn't help, either, as it made him notice that the way everything was hooked up would just cause it to bake his flesh like a tanning booth would, and living in his albino body for as long as he had, Jack knew that a tanning laser would not tan him: it would _burn_ him and make his flesh peel off in strips.

Wonderful.

The laser turned on, looking to be gearing up to zap him, and his eyes shot closed; his entire body tensing for the surely painful aftermath.

It never came.

Instead, the sound of a heavy, metallic crunch came, soon followed by the telltale electrical zaps of a machine in its death throes.

Red eyes flickered open again, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief to see the man that was standing beside him, already beginning to undo the straps that held him to the operating table.

"Oh, _Chase,"_ he shakily spoke, "thank _God_ you came for me!"

The dragonlord snorted. "It looks as if I came just in time, Spicer," he noted, freeing the teenager from his bonds entirely and taking the desperate hug he was then given in stride. "Your mother and father are obviously insane."

As if to speak of the devil, Mr. and Mrs. Spicer burst into the room, glancing back and forth between the crushed laser and the armored man that held their son.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Sylvia Spicer screeched. "Get _away_ from my baby _right now!"_

"I hope you intend to pay for that equipment," Martin Spicer added, glaring in a (vain) attempt to intimidate Chase. "Our son _needs_ this procedure!"

"He _needs_ to be given a nasty case of red and peeling skin?" Chase coolly challenged, watching both parents blink in startlement. "Because that is what that machine would've done to him."

The man allowed his consort's parents to flounder wordlessly for a few moments, attempting to come up with some sort of excuse.

"And, I suppose he needed his eyes replaced, as well?" he challenged. "Even though the pair he has work just fine?"

They sputtered a few moments longer when Martin scowled. "Listen here," he growled, "he's _our_ son, and _we_ know what's best for him! Not some…some weird _freak_ playing dress-up in armor!"

Chase pulled Jack off the operating table and held him close, allowing a red glimmer to seep into his eyes. "No, _you_ listen, Martin Spicer," the everlord snarled, baring sharp-sharp fangs at the mortal man. "This 'weird freak playing dress-up' happens to care for your son; not for what he looks like, but for his mind and who he _is._ In fact, I happen to _like_ the way he looks. And yet _you,_ his own parents, have managed to find fault in your only son's appearance. You aim to change him, to take away what has become _him_ simply because _you_ don't approve of his albinism, even if getting rid of it were to mean excruciating pain and months upon months of unnecessary rehabilitation to allow him to properly function."

Martin and Sylvia were struck by the harsh truth in those words; so struck, in fact, that they barely noticed when the strange man bent to kiss their son on the mouth.

"Come, Spicer," Chase ordered, "we are going home, _far_ away from these cretinous wastes of flesh that would change you."

Jack smiled in relief even as he felt the teleportation magic beginning to course through him. "Thank _God,"_ he sighed.

_**Vaccine-**_

Chase looked up from his book at the sharp jab he suddenly felt in his arm, his eyes immediately locking onto his lover.

Jack stood there with some sort of device in his hand (likely a device he'd built to function as a needle without actually _showing_ the needle for the everlord's sake), looking entirely casual about the fact that he'd just injected his lord and master with something _without_ his permission.

"Spicer…" he began slowly, "what did you just do?"

"Saved your life," the goth nonchalantly replied. "Don't worry, I've already given your cats their shots so they'll be fine, too."

Chase sighed roughly. This was Jack's problem: he had a tendency to say things that made absolutely no sense without further elaboration and expected others to know what he meant as if it were obvious; merely one of the faults of his incredibly high intellect.

"What have you saved my life _from,_ Jack?" he demanded.

"Oh!" the albino exclaimed, no doubt realizing he'd neglected to explain what was going on to his lover. "Well, like, a couple weeks ago, you were complaining about all the crap humans have done to ruin the planet and that you wished there was a way beyond the inconvenience of a genocidal killing-spree that would reduce their numbers. That got me to thinking, so I decided to manufacture a killer Trojan-kinda-virus to take out the populous of the world."

"A virus?" Chase prompted.

_"Oh,_ yeah," Jack confirmed, "and it's a _doozy._ Y'see, it starts out with absolutely no symptoms and remains dormant in the host, but it's contagious as _fuck,_ so pretty much the entire world is gonna have it in a month or two. That's when the symptoms start kicking in: coughing, fever, vomiting, diarrhea, the works. Unfortunately for anyone that gets it," the youth grinned, "it doesn't end there."

"A second stage of symptoms?" the dragonlord guessed.

"Mmhmm, _way_ worse than the first stage. Once Stage Two starts kicking in, people will lose their minds; literally. The virus is gonna induce dementia, blindness, heart, liver, and kidney failure."

Chase cocked an eyebrow. "You aren't worried that anyone is going to catch on and attempt to come up with a suitable vaccine to combat this virus?"

"That's the best part!" Jack exclaimed. "They won't have time! Once they realize that it's more than just a little cold, just about _everyone_ will have it; only a couple hundred people are gonna be naturally immune. With most of the greatest minds on the planet afflicted with the Spicerius virus (as I have dubbed it), there'll be nobody smart enough _left_ to create a cure."

"Interesting," the elder man mused at the prospect. "You intend to force humanity to start over by drastically cutting their numbers and thereby allowing the Earth time to heal from the damage that it has already been caused." Ahhh, his consort truly _was_ a genius to think up such a brilliant plan! "I can assume you've immunized yourself along with my warriors and I?"

"No," the genius denied. "The way I engineered it, the virus won't afflict people with certain types of genes, and naturally, I used my own genome as the base so I wouldn't be able to catch it even _without_ the vaccine I made."

"Smart of you," Chase purred, yanking the goth into his lap. "Have you released the Spicerius infection upon the world, yet?"

"Just about a month ago," Jack informed.

The dragonlord grinned and summoned the Eye-Spy Orb up from the floor. "Excellent," he said. "Then, let us watch the chaos unfold, my consort…"

--

**A/N: I will only comment on what I feel needs commenting on:**

**_Fracture-_ Only Jack; _truly_ only Jack. XD**

**_Healing-_ This will have grave repercussions... ):]**

**_Nausea-_ The first installment in the 'Jack Learns a Lesson About Alcohol' series. XD**

**_Nursing-_ The second installment in the 'Jack Learns a Lesson About Alcohol' series. :D**

**_Surgeon-_ The aftermath of _Healing._ ;P**

**_Trauma-_ The third and final installment in the 'Jack Learns a Lesson About Alcohol' series. :3**

**_Vaccine-_ Why, yes, this _was_ inspired by playing too much Pandemic II. XD**

**And there you have it: Chack is the Best Medicine! Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it! :D**


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